


i change shapes just to hide in this place (but i'm still an animal)

by matskreider



Series: whiskers and wingers [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (as in the ones that force the change), (in a sense....), (not mentioned in any bit of specificity), (the second chapter is a season later), 2015-2016 NHL Season, 2016-2017 NHL Season, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Drugs, Gen, Injury, Inspired by Real Events, Outdoor Therapy, shitty coaching @ you therrien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-18 12:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11874333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matskreider/pseuds/matskreider
Summary: In a world where, when people are stressed they shift into animals, there are certain chemical compounds that can force the change back into a human form. These are supposed to be used for therapy uses, to encourage people with mental illnesses not to rely on their animal form as a crutch, if it inhibits their daily lives.The NHL uses it for other things, oftentimes to the detriment of their players.(this is focused on the habs. comes from the same universe as wait, paws. recommended you read that one first, if not for more world building. part 1; chucky. part 2; pricey.)





	1. chucky

**Author's Note:**

> i know...nothing about the habs. at all. i don't even know about the exact relationship between carey price and chucky, but this is what worked for the story. this is just the first half, that talks about when chucky was going through his shit after the 911 call about his girlfriend, and builds off of the world briefly talked about/established in [wait, paws.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11850570)
> 
> several people asked for some more expansion of the universe, and i figured i'd go with some of the teams that i dragged in that fic, lol. 
> 
> hope y'all enjoy!

It was the interview that was the final straw. 

Maybe had he not been forced to apologize, it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe, if there wasn’t so much emphasis placed on masculinity - despite a six year age difference  _ not  _ in his favor - he wouldn’t have been forced to apologize in the first place. But Therrien only wants results, and with a 23-17-3 record in January, he’s not getting the results he wants. He’s out for blood, and Chucky fell into the crossfire.

He’s also nowhere to be found prior to their morning practice the day they play Chicago. Carey’s not surprised. If Therrien thought he could get a few more licks in, he’d keep at it. If that meant harassing his players until they were inevitably late for practice, and then harrasing them on ice  _ for  _ being late, he’d do it.

PK sits down next to him in Condon’s empty stall, the other goalie already out on the ice with a few of the other players. “Where’s Chucky?” 

Carey shrugs, but looks at the door meaningfully. “I haven’t seen him or coach all morning.”

PK goes still beside him. “...Again?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

“Want me to wait for him?” And isn’t that just like PK. Already on Therrien’s shit list for being himself - perhaps for being a black man in a white man’s game, perhaps for being a jovial personality in this miserable hockey city, perhaps for a lot of things - but willing to accumulate more strikes against him for the sake of a teammate.

But PK isn’t the only player on Therrien’s shit list, and he’s also certainly not the only one who cares about Chucky. But Carey might be the only one between the two of them that has some form of job security, even with his injury.

He shakes his head, and pats PK’s shoulder. “Go on out there, don’t give him a reason to get more riled up. I’ll wait for him.” 

The look PK gives him is somewhere between reassurance and concern, but the defenseman listens to the netminder. 

Bit by bit, time passes, the minute hand clicking closer to the time where they all need to be out on the ice. Those left in the room give Carey looks with varying degrees of understanding, but they all head out onto the ice without a word. 

Then, with 3 minutes to spare, Chucky stumbles through the doors to the locker room. He’s in a white t-shirt and compression leggings, and his right arm has a bandage on his inner elbow. When he sees Carey waiting, he freezes for only a second, but knows that time is of the essence. He says no words, moving immediately to his stall and hastening to get all his gear on in the right order. Even muscle memory can’t account for the sheer amount of stuff that hockey players have to wear, though Carey himself as more he needs to keep track of. The netminder has his blocker and glove in the stall next to him, his mask spinning between his fingers. 

It’s part nostalgia, and part frustration that he can’t quite get back to it. The ache in his knee has only just allowed him to start skating by himself, but he supposes it doesn’t help that he’s been resisting the shift for weeks now. Joint injuries were never a good idea to shift with, but he wasn’t about to seek out their trainers for assistance on that measure. 

On the third rotation of his mask, there’s the sound of agitated skates on rubber, sort of a swaying gait that still manages to have urgency. 

Patches comes through, his stick still in his hand, and he looks between Chucky and Carey. “...Coach needs you out there, Pricey. Now.” 

“Mikey and Scrivens are doing a fantastic job.” 

“He wants you to be a part of the team.” 

“Then tell him I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Max gives Carey an imploring look, all but begging him not to have to pull rank - and not to keep him in the middle of management and talent. That was what Therrien looked for in a captain, though; someone to essentially do the dirty work for him. 

But then he looks at Chucky as he pulls his socks on, and catches sight of the bandage on his right arm. The fight leaves him for a moment, but then comes back, his jaw working silently. “I’ll let him know,” he finally says, giving Carey a meaningful look, before turning back to head out to the ice. 

Chucky finishes up, grabbing his gloves and stick and heading out. Carey silently follows behind him. When they make it out to the ice, Therrien turns to look at them, interrupting his own flow of instruction. Chucky ducks his head, and goes to take his place in the back of the group.

“You know the policy, Chucky. First you’re late and now you don’t want to earn your place back here? You owe it to your teammates, and you’re lucky you get to skate today at all,” Therrien says at full volume, briefly paralyzing Chucky. But the young skater nods, and turns to start doing laps, five for each minute late. 

_ 25 laps _ , Carey thinks to himself, watching Chucky finish his first short side. Carey goes to settle into the bleachers, moving carefully in the narrow space, but he feels someone’s eyes on him. When he looks up, he levels Therrien with the same unimpressed stare he’s known for.

They stare at each other for a second, the hum of the lights and sound of Chucky’s skates filling the silence. But when Carey lifts his chin slightly, gesturing ever so slightly to the camera crew behind the far goal, possibly filming through the glass, Therrien seems to reconsider. 

“Nice of you to join us, Price.” 

“Nice to be of service, Coach.” 

* * *

They go on a losing streak that seems to last forever. They lose to Chicago that night, and go on to lose to the Blues in OT, but it seems that everyone on both sides was itching for a fight, because 15 penalties were assigned in the second period and 11 of them were for roughing. They face the Hawks again, that goes to shit, the Bruins aren’t much better, until they finally play Toronto and win.

But it’s worth almost nothing and leaves a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth, because it takes 10 rounds of the shoot out to get that win. No one wants to be  _ that  _ close to Toronto.

Each and every day, for practice and before games, it’s noted that Chucky still comes in with his arm bandaged up. Some less knowledgeable media outlets speculate doping or heroin, but those that deal with professional sports more often don’t even bother reporting. 

A few bloggers wonder what the NHLPA is doing about the situation - and others like it, around the league - but the answer is honestly “nothing.” 

Four more losses happen - back to back to CBJ, one to the Flyers, and one to the Sabres - and it’s at that point that Carey’s just about had it. They have three days until their next game, and he knows he needs to prioritize if he’s going to go through with this plan that’s been kicking around in his head for a few days now. Maybe it’s early emerging parenting abilities, or maybe it’s just the concern for a younger teammate, but God knows Chucky’s not getting much help on his own. The official response to dilemmas like this is a syringe, and Chucky doesn’t need getting more shot up. 

Especially because he already needs large doses, and adding more is only going to lead to immunity.

When Carey thinks about the other hockey he wants to play, the non-NHL related kind, he can’t rationalize rushing himself to come back to a team that, quite honestly, he can’t see himself returning to just then. So he meets with his doctor to get cleared for shifting instead, and when he’s given the a-okay, he doesn’t waste time heading over to Chucky’s place. 

The skater’s home area is pretty heavily populated for someone who shifts the way Chucky does, and Carey’s not surprised that he hasn’t gotten much recovery time in. Between that and the treatments at the rink, he’s had little to no time to just...decompress. When he gets up to Chucky’s floor, he pauses, listening through the door.

He hears even, deep breathing, but it’s too close - too  _ loud  _ \- to be coming from the bedroom. He tries the door, finds it unlocked, and gently steps inside. 

Curled up on the couch is a gangly, not quite full grown but still broad, grizzly bear. If Carey had to guess, he’d say the bear was not quite an adult, maybe more of a teenager or juvenile. But he wasn’t a bear expert, so what did he really know?

“Alex?” he asks softly. 

The bear doesn’t stir, and Carey’s not about to get much closer to him than he has to. So he steps to the side, hoping that he finds a squeaky floorboard or something else to get Chucky’s attention. 

On the third try, he does. 

Chucky turns his head, mouth open to expose his teeth, until he registers that it’s Carey there. At that point, he pauses for a moment, before jumping off the couch, and backing himself into a corner, body low to the ground. 

It breaks Carey’s heart.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help,” Carey murmurs softly. 

There’s an uncertain whine as Chucky shifts his weight from side to side. Carey can’t blame him. How many times may those words have been said before a needle went through his skin?

“You haven’t actually been allowed to process what’s been going on. And you were forced to do something that you really shouldn’t have had to do,” he continues. “People have the animals that they do for a reason. Bears aren’t exactly known for thriving in cities, nor apartments. If you want, I can take you somewhere that might help a little more than sitting here, waiting for the next round of shots.” 

Chucky looks up at that, making a small noise of alarm.

“You aren’t the only player to get continuously drugged, Alex. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We don’t ask for what happens to us.” 

There’s a moment of silence, before the bear slowly begins his approach. He moves just fine, reaffirming Carey’s suspicions that this isn’t a physical pain, but more an emotional and mental one. He stretches his neck out to where Carey’s hand is resting by his side, sniffing at it. 

“I was just at my own doctor’s,” Carey explains when he sees Chucky’s apprehension. The unique smell of a doctor’s office isn’t something one can wash off all that easily.

But that gives him enough leeway to gain Chucky’s trust, apparently, and he leans into the netminder for a brief moment, before going over to the door and waiting expectantly. Carey almost wonders about what the neighbors would think, but then again, it’s not his neighborhood. So he opens the door and leads a grizzly bear down to his truck, without a care in the world.

* * *

Carey takes Chucky to  Seigneurie Papineau. Though the forest naturally caters more towards moose, wolves, and black bears, a grizzly bear won’t be too out of place. He takes him out, and just being outside seems to coax him to relax. Carey’s sure Chucky’s picking up a lot more, with his changed senses, and with a few deep breaths, he seems to settle.

The goalie smiles to himself as he strips out of his jacket, leaving the clothes on the passenger seat of his car. “There’s really only two rules for this,” Carey says, not wanting to break Chucky’s concentration, but also needing to tell him this. “First - stay away from people. Second - go slow.” 

He’s naked in short order, and from there it’s a small matter of allowing himself to change. It’s strange, being this short again, and getting his senses mixed up, but after a few stiff steps he feels more comfortable in this body. 

When he looks at Chucky, he makes a friendly noise, reaching out to touch noses. He’s naturally a private person, so it makes sense that Chucky seems taken aback by his form. After all, bobcats aren’t exactly a common form to have. 

He allows Chucky to sniff around him, but he also wants to go explore. So with a gentle pap at Chucky’s cheek, he turns to go lead them through the snow. Between his stiff back leg and his shorter stature, Carey moves a fair bit slower than Chucky can, but Carey also knows where they’re going. So Carey walks and sets the pace, but also doesn’t stop Chucky from wandering off the path every once in a while, sniffing and scratching at trees and experiencing the world that he was  _ supposed  _ to experience.

Call Carey old fashioned or whatever you like, but he firmly believed that people are meant to be near or around environments that reflected their shifted form. Then again, he also firmly believed that the administration of forceful shifting drugs should be left to medical and mental health professionals. Not to say that the trainers the League hires aren’t medical professionals, but they’re at the mercy of pressures from higher-ups. And if the player in question isn’t a face of the franchise or a fan favorite, they might get the chance to heal normally.

But if they’re expected to be out and performing, to drum up sales of both tickets and merch, they’d be rushed back. So in a sad and twisted way, because Chucky was pretty much loved by the Habs fan base, he had to be punished for it.

They come to a river, the water frozen solid. Chucky steps into the riverbed itself, walking on the frozen sheets, not caring how they occasionally crack beneath him. Carey follows along, walking on the frozen ground. He’s not sure how much time has passed of them being out there, exploring the world around them, but he can both see and smell a difference in Chucky. 

He looks happier, if not genuinely excited for the first time in a long while. Every so often, he’ll look back or down, trying to locate Carey and make sure that he hasn’t lost him. And every time Carey will chirr at him, offering him the reassurance he so clearly needs but hasn’t had a lot of. He’s only seven years younger than Carey, yet the goalie feels protective of him. But if a coach isn’t, and a captain can’t, he supposes that a goalie might be the next best thing. 

They come to a clearing, the river wading through it, and Chucky jumps out of it, walking through the snow. The winter air preserved the scents of other animals. Carey alone knows that a family of wolves came through there last night, and that a warren of rabbits also frequents the area. 

Chucky drops to the ground, rolling on his back in the snow. Carey briefly thinks about how much it’s going to suck having to clean all of that out of the car, but that’s quickly overridden by the urge to pounce.

It’s a play fight, however weird it may seem to have a bobcat going up against a bear, but it’s  _ fun,  _ and that’s the point. It’s also cathartic. The frustration of having his season taken from him by Chris fucking Kreider, anything to do with Therrien, and slowly but surely, Carey finds his own relaxation too.

They rough house for a while, just enjoying the feeling of honestly not caring about appearances or structure for the time being. When they finally settle down, the winter sky is just starting to show the signs of sunset. Carey knows they should probably head back before it got dark, but a few more moments couldn’t hurt.

Chucky’s lying on his side, eyes closed but just dozing. The netminder gets to his feet and walks over, settling himself against Chucky’s stomach. He rests his chin on his paws, but keeps his eyes and ears alert, listening for any danger in the form of other animals.

But all that he hears is Chucky’s even breaths in the clearing, little puffs of condensation briefly greying out his vision, before all becomes clear again.


	2. carey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we have chucky giving back to pricey after the little excursion that happened in the previous season. note that this one takes place in the 2016-2017 season, and references the subban trade and chucky's knee injury as pretty major plot points. honestly i just wanted to be done with this so....here it is

Chucky’s not good at comforting other people. He’s good at being unintentionally adorable - so the internet tells him - and being a foil to Gally in almost every way possible. (Even namesakes, judging from the “A. Gally vs. B. Gally” debates.) He’s even good at hockey, despite what some people might say. And he knows he’s good at dealing with family. 

He’s just not good at knowing what to say or do to help someone else. But he knows when he needs to do something. Repay a favor, perhaps. 

After what happened last season, he owes more than just an offer of dinner to Carey. The man had continued to come out and help him work through the pain of what had happened, the embarrassment of having it exposed like that, and the frustration of being called a “distraction.” Eventually the trainers had left him alone, and for that he was grateful. 

He hated riding in the back of Therrien’s car. For one, it smelled like the man himself. But when it came to animals, it was much more potent. It seemed that Therrien was no stranger to transporting his players to where they needed to be, animal form or otherwise. All Chucky could smell was fear and discomfort, and in one case, depressed resignation. 

It took him a while to realize that that last one was himself. 

But now he’s free of Therrien’s grasp, at least in that sense, but so is PK and that was, looking back at it, definitely the start of Carey’s slide. 

PK was gone, traded to the Predators, even after insistent quotes given to the media that he wouldn’t trade him away. Then there was the horrific 10-0 loss to the Blue Jackets, where Therrien left Montoya out to dry, despite Carey verbally fighting him from next to the bench. 

(“You’re leaving him in?” The incredulous tone of voice borders on disrespectful, but the arena is loud, and so is the sound of that goddamn canon. Chucky can still hear him though, and it takes everything in him not to turn towards the sound of his voice.

“It’s character development.” Therrien, dispassionate and disregarding. 

“It’s  _ breaking _ him.” 

“Are you the coach of this team, or am I?”

“I think I would give us a better chance of getting back in this than whatever half baked plan you have right now.” Carey sounded angry enough to spit, and Chucky doesn’t blame him. This is an embarrassment for many reasons. He’s devastated that his team is losing, but even angrier for the careless way with which Therrien is treating his teammate. It’s a shitty situation, and he thinks that it’s something that can be used for character development?

“If you have a problem with this, you can leave.”

It’s at that point that Chucky risks looking up. He locks eyes with Carey before the goalie headed down the hall.) 

And then there was, probably the icing on the shit cake, when they’re playing the Sharks at home and Carey winds up getting pulled after only letting in 4 goals. It doesn’t help that they spent the entire first period getting laid up with stupid penalties. The glare he sends down the bench paralyzes Chucky, even from where he’s watching from the box, and he immediately knows that he needs to do something. 

That he hasn’t seen Carey crash and burn, he knows is partly just Carey’s personality, and partly his own lock on his feelings. Chucky doesn’t know if he’d be able to do that, at all, ever, and he wants to help, but he doesn’t know how. 

It turns out that all he needed to do was ask Gally to drive him over the next time they had a break between games. After traveling to D.C. to play the Caps - and in which they get eked out a win - Chucky decides that the time is now. 

* * *

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Gally asks for the upteenth time.

“I’m repaying a favor. Letting him know that someone’s here for him if he wants,” Chucky responds, also for the upteenth time. 

“And if he takes you up on the offer? No, wait; better question. What if he  _ doesn’t _ ? Then you made me drive you all the way over here for no reason. And that would suck for  _ me. _ ”

“Gally, your priorities are amazing, as always.” But he can’t deny that he is a bit nervous. Carey Price is a pretty private guy, and he decides who he lets in and who he keeps at an arm’s distance. Chucky didn’t know if last time was a one off, but if it was, he could take the dismissal with some amount of tact. He wasn’t completely useless, he didn’t think.

Gally falls silent at that, and Chucky sighs when they finally show up at Carey’s place. The driveway is shoveled to almost within an inch of it’s life, and Chucky isn’t sure how much of that is landscaping and how much of that is a frustrated goaltender trying to get rid of his energy in a productive way. 

Gally puts the car in park, but leaves it running for the time being. “If you run in real quick, you can just say, ‘hey man, thanks for helping me out last time, if you want me to do the same, you can always text,’ and then come right back out. I’ll even keep the car running for you.” 

Chucky levels him with a flat stare and gestures to his bandaged knee and the crutches between his legs. “I won’t be running anywhere.” 

“Then hobble your way inside fast.” 

Chucky doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead just winging open the door and cautiously making his way down to the ground. It’s cold and slippery, but he makes his way to the front door eventually, where he knocks.

A few moments pass before he hears footsteps inside, and then he’s looking at Angela Price, a baby pressed against her chest. She looks confused, and Chucky’s taken aback for a minute, but then he presses onward. 

“Is Pricey home?” 

Angela looks down at his bandaged leg and steps aside, wordlessly offering him into the house. “Who drove you?” she asks as he passes by.

“Gally. Just wave him off, he’ll be fine to roam around for a little bit,” Chucky explains, stiffly turning to look at her. There’s baby toys in the den, from what he can see, and he can smell something cooking, probably in preparation for dinner that night. “I hope I’m not intruding, I just. Want to repay a favor. If that’s okay?” It comes out like a question, instead of an explanation. 

But Angela smiles, nodding in agreement. “Carey told me what he did for you last season. Kept me up to date on your excursions. He’s out back right now, but I can get him for you, if you want.” 

She starts to walk towards the back door, and Chucky follows. “You really don’t have to do that,” he begins.

“And why not?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow. 

Chucky glances meaningfully down at the sleeping baby attached to her chest. She responds by looking purposefully down at his bandaged knee.

“...Point taken, ma’am.” 

“Good. And don’t ma’am me.” She pads outside and closes the door behind her, walking along the path out towards where her husband must be. Chucky turns and manages to get himself into an island chair because standing on crutches is uncomfortable on a good day.

Eventually, he hears people on the back deck, and soon Angela and Carey come back inside. They’re both rosy cheeked from the cold weather outside, and Carey blinks as he probably receives visual confirmation that his wife wasn’t lying. 

“How did you get here?” is what comes out of the goalie’s mouth, and Chucky can’t blame him.

“Gally drove me.” 

“What are you doing here?” 

Starting off easy, then. “I’m repaying a favor.” 

“From last season? You don’t have to do that.” Carey frowns ever so slightly, his brows furrowing. Not for the first time, Chucky wishes PK had stayed with them, if only to have someone to convey to everyone else what exactly went on in Carey Price’s head. 

“I know that. I just…I want to. This season is awful and you...you’ve gotten a lot of it. I don’t know what I would do, maybe just listen, but I didn’t want to just...take your kindness and not repay it.” It comes out in a bit of a mess, but English is annoying, he’s in a little bit of pain, but he came here on a mission damn it.

Carey doesn’t say anything for a little bit, and Angela gets three mugs down from the cabinet. She puts a tea bag in hers and pours some hot water over it from the kettle, before going up on her toes to press a kiss to Carey’s cheek. “I’ll give you two some time,” she murmurs, taking her exit.

The goalie watches his wife leave, before turning to face his teammate. He stays silent for a moment before continuing. “You know I know it’s just business, right? I don’t need to be coddled.” 

“No, I know that. I’m not saying you do! I’m just...returning the favor. If you want it. I’m not trying to force...anything,” Chucky finishes with a sheepish expression. 

Carey doesn’t say anything, instead grabbing the two mugs on the counter and turning his back to Chucky. As he patters around the kitchen, Chucky slides out his phone, sending a quick text to Gally.

_ not sure what i expected _

His reply is almost instantaneous. 

_ its pricey bro. wat did u expect _

Chucky types a message out a few times, deleting each version, before he simply says,  _ wya _

_ gas station dwn the street. i can come back 4 u if u want _

He simply sends a thumbs up. 

The gentle clatter of a mug against the marble startles him. Carey’s hand retracts as he leaves the hot chocolate where he had set it, letting Chucky choose to accept it or not. 

“...Thank you.” 

Carey nods at him, taking a sip of his own mug in a quiet cheers. “You’re hurt. Your focus should be on healing yourself.” 

“You were injured when you helped me. It was your knee too,” Chucky responds, as if Carey could have forgotten that little detail that cost him the back half of last season. 

Carey raises an eyebrow at him, and he almost backtracks, not wanting to come across as overly aggressive in the short amount of time that he’s been in Carey’s house. But before he can apologize, Carey’s expression smooths over, and he shakes his head. 

“No, you’re right. I’m used to someone else taking the extra step, is all.” 

Oh. 

“I’m not trying to be PK. No one can, but. I can still be worried about you.” 

The kitchen is silent for a moment until Chucky’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, seeing a short message from Gally. Shortly thereafter, there’s the sound of a car approaching. 

“Impeccable timing,” Carey muses, raising an eyebrow. 

Chucky gives him a little shrug. “Just think about what I offered. Thank you, again,” he explains, hauling himself off the chair, tucking his crutches under his arms and heading towards the door. He may not have gotten something concrete out of the meeting, but the offer had been extended, and that was about all he could ask for.

* * *

Weeks pass.

The Habs go on a road trip that goes 4-3, with five of them heading to overtime, and a new year to boot. Chucky knows that Carey’s got to be feeling the pressure right now, but he’s not about to reiterate himself. He told Carey; end of discussion.

That last game against Toronto though was rough. Penalties were being handed out left and right, and there was still a shit ton of stuff that just wasn’t called. It’s tiring, the up and down, even though Carey’s sharing even start time with Montoya on this trip. He  _ looks  _ tired, but Chucky chalks it up to general exhaustion. 

Until he comes in one day to check in with the trainers. There’s an unholy growling coming from the trainer's room, echoing eerily down the halls. It sounds like it’s coming from a large animal, and from experience, Chucky knows what to expect when he opens the doors.

At least, he thinks he does. 

He certainly isn’t expecting to see a bobcat on one of the tables, ears back and teeth bared, growling at a very unimpressed trainer. The trainer has a syringe in his hand, a bead of clear liquid running down the side of a very sharp, moderately long needle. 

Chucky recognizes it, and instinctively reaches to hide his right arm from view, his inner elbow stinging.

“Um...should I come back later?” Chucky asks, hesitantly from where he’s standing in the doorway.

The trainer turns to look at him, and the bobcat takes the moment to his advantage, jumping off the table and sprinting out of the room. He jumps over Chucky’s crutch, and books it up one of the hallways, turning sharply and escaping away. 

“ _ Why  _ would you-”

Chucky just turns and heads down the corridor, closing the door behind him. He can check in with the trainers later.

There’s someone he needs to find. 

He takes the long hallway down, finding the bobcat curled up beneath a laundry cart. The clicking of the crutches probably give Chucky away, because by the time he gets there, Carey’s already cautiously sticking his head out from beneath his hiding place. 

He looks down at the bobcat, and the bobcat looks up at him, before he lets out a little friendly chirr, not at all dissimilar from their walk in the forest last season. 

“...That bad, huh?” he asks softly, knowing damn well what the answer would be, should Carey be able to speak.

As it is, the bobcat just looks up at him, half chirring in response.

“Figured.” 

A moment of silence falls over the two of them, Chucky shifting his weight off his crutches to give his arms a break. Carey watches him, yellow eyes far too intelligent for a wild animal, until Chucky feels compelled to say something.

“Is this the first time that that’s happened?” 

The bobcat hesitates for a moment, but flicks his ear instead. Chucky’s not sure if that constitutes a yes or a no, but this is one question in which a lack of an answer is still an answer. The forward turns and starts to make his way to the elevator, not feeling up to wrangling his way up the stairs with his crutches. 

Soft paps of paws against the carpet announce Carey’s movement, the goalie following him to the elevator doors. When they open, he darts inside, then folds himself down to a sitting position, anticipating the 5 floor ride up to the box. He wouldn’t be going to practice today, and neither would Chucky, for obvious reasons. 

Chucky hits the elevator button and leans back against the railing, letting out a soft sigh. “This isn’t the way I imagined paying you back,” he admits, staring at his hazy reflection in the stainless steel of the elevator. “But it’s not like I can take you out somewhere either. No driving with this.” He needlessly gestures to his bandaged knee.

Carey makes a soft cooing trill in response. As the elevator shudders to a stop, he sinks his claws into the carpet, holding on as the mechanics finally settle themselves. As soon as the doors open, he leaps out, then turns and waits for Chucky to join him. 

Together, they make their way to the box, Chucky nodding at employees that they pass, Carey cooly stalking towards his destination. When they arrive, Chucky takes a seat, and Carey jumps up onto the chair beside him, then up onto the ledge in front of him. He settles down on his side, the way Chucky has seen so many cats do, close enough to the edge that Chucky slightly worries what would happen if he were to fall.

But he doesn’t, even as he lazily rolls onto his back, a rare display of relaxation and comfort. Since PK had left, it doesn’t really seem to come as naturally. (Not that he was big on gestures like that anyway, but it became just how noticeably different he was without PK around to coax them out of him.) 

“...Carey?” 

A friendly, if not a little amused, trill is his response.

“Want me to call Angie?” 

At that, Carey rolls onto his feet, stepping closer to Chucky with a curious gaze.

“I mean...if you want to go home. Relax with your family. I have to stay, but you could, yanno….” He shrugs helplessly. 

Carely maintains eye contact with Chucky as he lays back down on the table, before definitively looking back out onto the ice, resuming his earlier activity of watching practice.

If there’s one thing that Chucky knew about Carey Price, it was that he didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do. What he  _ had  _ to do, was a different matter. No one was forcing him to choose staying with Chucky over somehow returning home, nor was anyone forcing him to stay in the building (assuming the trainers didn’t find him first.) 

Sitting up in the box together and watching practice though….it’s no forested walk to get in touch with their other halves, to be sure. But, judging from the frustrated chatter Carey lets out as he watches Montoya let in a soft one by Patches, it’s not half bad. 

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on le [tumblr.](http://eddieluongo.tumblr.com/)


End file.
